“Yes,” said Bully, with a scowl. “He didn’t have no respect for me at all. Then you’ve got two other fellers from that outlaw league, ain’t you?”
“For first and third,” replied his father. “Our own second baseman is excellent, and with Southpaw Diggs we’ll have a walk-away, son.”
Bully nodded. Diggs was a famous professional pitcher. In his good days he was one of the best in the country, but he had been let out by the last team he had been with for drunkenness.
“Sure Diggs won’t get boozed up, pop?”
“Quite sure. He has agreed to let me bet half the amount I am to pay him on our team. He’s also agreed not to touch a drop meantime, and, as he needs the money, we can depend on him fully.”
Carson, junior, looked down at the floor, then lifted his one good eye suddenly.
“Pop, I want some money,” he blurted out. “I want to get down some bets on this game for myself, and I’m busted.”
“Nothing doing,” and his father’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll make a clean-up for the family, son.”
“Aw, loosen up!” exclaimed Bully disgustedly. “You durned old tightwad, you got more dollars in the bank than I have cents! Why, you own the bank, yet you won’t come over with a hundred!”
“I should say not!” cried Colonel Carson, horrified at the mere idea. “Ain’t I brought you up all your life? Ain’t I paid for them clothes you got on?”